Before the Parade Passes By
by MissMelysse
Summary: Happy Thanksgiving from the CRUSHverse - a glimpse at several Thanksgivings in the lives of Data & Zoe. Inspired by the documentary about the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. Oneshot. Complete. Data/Zoe. Opens during Zoe's first Thanksgiving as a Yale student - about eleven months after the beginning of CRUSH III: SOSTENUTO.


_**Disclaimer:**_ _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ and all recognizable characters and settings belong to CBS/Paramount. The rest is mine.

 _ **Continuity Note**_ **:** The first section of this story takes place over Zoe's first Thanksgiving break as a Yale student (it comes between the episodes "Rightful Heir" and "Second Chances.") The second section is between _Star Trek: Insurrection_ and _Star Trek: Nemesis_ (about a year before the latter). The final section is nine years post- _Nemesis_.

* * *

 **Before the Parade Passes By**

 **Stardate 46904.76**

 **(Thanksgiving 2369, 5:45 AM local time)**

 **San Francisco, CA, Earth**

The sound of his partner's wake-up alarm, set for an uncharacteristically early hour, jars Data from his dream state. He does not refer to the hours he spends with the new subroutine active as 'sleep,' but Zoe does, and he does not find it necessary to correct her.

Since her departure from the ship three months before, Data has activated the 'dream program' an average of two-point-six-five-six times per week. Increasingly, the contents of his dreams are visions of a possible future with the woman still sleeping beside him – a future they have spoken about in terms that are becoming less and less vague.

She does not yet know that on every occasion he has used the program since she began her studies at Yale he has been dreaming of meeting her at the end of an aisle, he in his dress uniform, she in a white gown. He has not yet told her that he no longer agrees that they should wait. Data's mind goes to the small velvet box stowed in his luggage; Zoe _definitely_ has no idea that there is a rather significant piece of jewelry less than two meters from her - _their_ \- bed.

The buzzing sound repeats for thirty-seven-point-three-nine-two seconds, before Data's girlfriend stirs, snaking a hand out from under the covers to press the button that silences her alarm. Then she sits up in bed and instructs the entertainment system in their room to become active.

"Morning," Zoe greets him sleepily.

"Good morning," Data responds. "I was not aware waking so early was part of the Thanksgiving tradition?" The bed they are in is in the room Emily and Edouard Benoit have reserved for Zoe – for both of them, they insisted – in their San Francisco townhouse.

"Only when you're in the wrong time zone," Zoe mutters. She is always grumpy when forced to be awake before dawn.

"I do not – "

She cuts him off with a kiss. "The parade starts at nine eastern."

"You are awake three hours ahead of your typical schedule in order to watch a parade?"

"Not just _a_ parade," she corrects. " _The_ parade. The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. It's been a Thanksgiving tradition in New York since the nineteen-hundreds. _I've_ watched it live – or as close to it as possible – every Thanksgiving for my entire life."

"Would you not prefer to view it on the larger screen in the living room?"

"Ordinarily, yes," Zoe confirmed. "But this year, I'm snuggled up to you, and this bed is really comfortable, and if I watch it here, I won't wake Mom and Ed."

The broadcast event begins soon after her explanation, and Data is fascinated by the spectacle of it – inflatables, decorated floats, singers, dancers, and marching bands – including the Starfleet Honor Band, he notes – culminating in the arrival of Santa Claus.

Equally, however, he is fascinated by Zoe's reaction to the event. Her brown eyes are wide and her face is suffused with an emotion he believes to be joy.

"It would seem the ultimate 'parade experience' would be to view it from the street, with the other spectators," Data observes.

"Truth?" Zoe asks, and waits for his affirming nod. "I've always wanted to be _in_ it. On a float, or in one of the Broadway shows that performs. Slide down a little and lift your arm, please."

Data considers the box again, and the golden item within it. Perhaps he will present it to her just after the event is complete. Wordlessly, he adjusts his position in the bed, lifting his arm so that the woman he wishes to spend eternity with can snuggle more closely.

When the spectacle is over, and Zoe has disengaged the entertainment system, she stretches up to touch his lips with hers. "Thank you for watching it with me. It meant a lot that you did." She clearly wishes to say more, but instead of words she emits a yawn. "Sorry," she apologizes sheepishly. "I need a little more sleep. Mom won't expect us downstairs until noon. Do you mind?"

Data turns onto his side, and draws his lover against his body, tucking her head beneath his chin. "Sleep," he whispers. He kisses the top her head, and breathes in the tropical-fruit scent of her hair. Soon, he thinks. He will ask her… soon.

 **(=A=)**

 **Stardate 55895.71**

 **(Thanksgiving 2378, 10:27 PM local time)**

 **Harris Farm, Fair Haven, Centaurus**

Data pauses in the doorway to the living room, taking a moment merely to watch his wife and their infant daughter. The former is seated in an antique rocking chair, pulled close to the crackling fire, and the baby, Elizabeth, is suckling from her mother's breast. It is not the first time he has stopped to observe such a scene, and he knows it will not be the last, but something about the image of Zoe and their child in such a tableau never fails to enthrall him.

"Dearest, I am home," he announces, stepping fully into the room that can only be described as 'cozy.' Data bends to brush kisses first across his wife's lips, and then to the downy top of his daughter's head. "Would you like me to hold her for a while?"

"In a minute," Zoe answers, keeping her voice pitched low. "She's about done with her Thanksgiving dinner. Did your mother and Pran get settled into their hotel alright? Are you _sure_ they aren't offended by not staying here?"

The 'here' in question is Zoe's grandmother's farmhouse, inherited when its former owner had died six months before. They elected to spend their parental leave here because it is more private than remaining on the _Enterprise_ - _E_ , less distracting than Earth, and less remote than the home they have created for themselves on Terlina III.

"I am certain they understand," Data assures her, watching as mother and child disengage from one another. "My mother is pleased that you invited her to come for the holiday at all."

" _My_ mother said I was crazy for hosting it three weeks after giving birth," Zoe admits. Carefully, she cuddles the infant back into her blanket, and proffers the pale-olive, contented bundle to him.

Data gathers his daughter into his own arms and settles into the rocker that is a match to his wife's. "I do not think 'crazy,' is the correct word," he hedges.

Zoe's pregnancy had been difficult for both of them, their shared joy at their daughter's development tempered by the memory of the child they had lost three-and-a-half years earlier. Now, it seems as if his beloved partner is determined to make up for the way she had shut down _then_. Hosting their extended family for a celebration of the Federation's Day of Gratitude is only the most recent gesture she has made.

"Have Emily and Ed gone to bed?"

Zoe shakes her head, and Data smiles slightly as the strands of hair that have escaped from her pony-tail catch the firelight and reflect it back at him. His wife's hair never would be tamed.

"They insisted on cleaning up, and putting all the leftovers in stasis. Then they took the flitter out to the coast to meet Dad and Gia for drinks. Is it weird," Zoe asks him, "that my parents get along better now that each of them is married to someone else than they did when they were a couple?"

"I do not believe so," he responds. Elizabeth's black eyes, which had been fixed on his face during the bulk of the conversation, have finally closed and the baby's slower rate of respiration inform him that she is deeply asleep.

Data turns his attention from his daughter's face back to his wife's. Zoe is visibly exhausted, though her lips remain curved into a gentle smile. She has been displaying that smile more often than not, lately, he realizes. "Did you get any rest while I was gone?"

"I… not really," she confesses.

"Let us retire to bed," he suggests, in the firm-but-gentle tone that she refers to as 'practicing for when Lizzy-Bee can walk.' "I have a gift for you," he adds, as an incentive.

Not so long ago, such a statement would have been met with a flirtatiously lewd remark.

"Bed sounds nice," Zoe agrees. "Gifts, too."

Data gestures for her to precede him up the stairs to their bedroom, whispering the commands to extinguish the fire, dim the lights, and lock the doors as he follows. As he has observed Zoe do, he coos the words in a sing-song tone. Everything Zoe has told him, and everything he has read, implies that at this age, Elizabeth has no idea what his words _mean_ , but is aware that they are in her father's voice.

In their bedroom, Data settles his daughter into the co-sleeper on his wife's side of the bed. While he will handle any required diaper-changing during the night, he understands that there are other needs only Zoe can fulfil.

His wife disappears into the bathroom, returning a few minutes later in a flannel nightgown with a neckline that can be unbuttoned to the waist. She glances at her daughter's sleeping form, then eases herself into their bed. "You said there was a gift?"

Data chuckles softly. "There is." Clad only in flannel pajama bottoms, he, too, settles himself against the pile of pillows. Activating their entertainment system, he reveals, "You missed an important tradition today, but I anticipated that between our guests and our daughter, you would appreciate a playback."

For a moment, Zoe's expression is quizzical, and she cocks her head and wrinkles her nose at him. Then the screen comes to life, and her soft laughter warms him the way it always has. "You recorded the parade for me. God, I love you."

He wraps his arms around his wife, and reminds her, "I love you, also, my Zoe. But I am not God, only Data."

It is strangely fitting, he thinks after only a few minutes of the parade playback, that both Zoe and Elizabeth are asleep for their daughter's first Thanksgiving Day parade.

 **(=A=)**

 **Stardate 71897.38**

 **(Thanksgiving, 2394, 1:03 PM, local time)**

 **Harris-Soong Household, Terlina III**

By tradition, they do not begin their holiday meal until after Santa Claus has made his appearance at the end of the parade. Zoe's love of the annual event has become Elizabeth's obsession. Mother and daughter have been rating their favorite performances, scoring each year's iteration of the show, for twelve years in a row, now.

If Zoe's parade-watching has changed from a 'solo act' to a duet, and sometimes a trio, the house on Terlina has changed along with it. Originally a jungle bungalow with an attached laboratory, the property Data acquired after his father's death now boasts an addition with three bedrooms (one is Elizabeth's domain), while several one- and two-bedroom guesthouses dot the lakeshore, most frequently used by their respective parents, or their chosen family from the _Enterprise-F_ and Idyllwild.

Thanksgiving on Terlina III has become an annual event for the small community, and this year is no exception. As they all take their places around the oval table, Data takes in the happy faces of his friends – his family – Juliana and Pran, both growing frail now; Emily and Ed and Zach and Gia, the latter pair accompanied by their son David (he had given up the name 'Zeke' at the tender age of four) and his boyfriend T'ek; Admiral Picard and Doctor Crusher (who had long since become _Grand-pêre_ and _Grand-mêre_ ); Geordi and his longtime partner Katrina; Reg and Sarah Barclay; his daughter, who will likely be entering the Academy within the next year or two, and his wife, with her warm brown eyes and the smile he is _still_ unable to capture on canvas.

Zoe shares a look with him, a silent query: _Now?_

Data responds with a subtle nod, but before he can speak to their guests, Elizabeth, who has been watching both her parents' faces releases a shout of joy.

"Oh my god! You're doing it! You're really doing it!"

"Lizzy-Bee…" Zoe's voice is laced with caution.

"Sorry, Mom. But… it's true, isn't it?"

"What's true, sis?" David asks.

Data reaches for his wife's hand, and she laces her fingers with him on top of the table. "We have an announcement to make," she says, addressing her brother even though her eyes never leave her husband's face.

"You're pregnant." Beverly's tone is a complete deadpan.

"Not precisely," Data corrects. "However, we have decided to expand our family. We have begun the development of a new android, and if we are successful, our son George will be activated in March of next year."

No one brings up Lal, but Data's first daughter is on all their minds. He answers the unspoken question, reassuring the assembled group: "We have already tested two prototypes, but more importantly, I am not undertaking this endeavor alone. Zoe has been involved from the outset, and Geordi, Reg, and Juliana have all been consulted as needed."

Chaotic chatter threatens to overtake the group before anyone has a chance to eat the meal Zoe, Emily, and Gia created together. For several minutes, Data participates in the overlapping conversations, but another hand-squeeze from his wife reminds him to bring things 'back to center.'

It is rare for him to make speeches at these gatherings. Typically, it is Zoe who expresses their gratitude, but, just as it was he who first approached his wife with the desire to create another child, it is he who must be the one to speak.

"Friends and family… we are gathered here to share in an annual celebration of Thanksgiving. I feel it is important for me to share that Zoe and I are grateful for your love and support for us over the years. We welcome you to our home, and into our family, and we look forward to your loving presence when we are ready to welcome our son into the world."

The meal is presented, the food consumed with joy and gusto.

When everything has been washed, dried, and stored appropriately, and the guests have dispersed to their private spaces, Elizabeth kisses each of her parent and sequesters herself in her room.

"She is calling that boy again," Data points out.

"He has a name, Data," Zoe reminds her husband. "Rajit is a good first boyfriend for her, but don't worry, it's not that serious."

"How can you be certain of this?"

But Zoe's answer is enigmatic. "Oh, mothers know these things. Come sit by the fire with me."

The couple settles onto their couch, nestled together in the same way they've done so for almost thirty years: Data's arm around his wife's shoulders. Zoe's arm resting across her husband's middle. For several minutes, they remain in silent communion.

Finally, Zoe asks. "Data… what if George doesn't like parades?"

He presses a kiss to his wife's forehead, and speaks the words he believes to be true. "I do not think that is possible."

Their voices mingle in gentle laughter.

* * *

 **Notes** : I wanted to do a completely different future-glimpse, but this is what came out instead. Elizabeth will be born on October 31, 2378. Georgi is permanently activated in March, 2395. Per DS9, Thanksgiving is still celebrated in the Federation, but there are likely different reasons for its continued existence. The title for this piece is taken from the song, but has no other relation to it.


End file.
